I face my bag and make sure I’m standing correctly. I attempt to copy what he did, but it’s weak and the bag bouncing back almost sends me sprawling to the floor.
“Slow it down. We want quality technique, not power or speed – for now. Those will come later.”
So I try again. I find the correct stance, engage what little core strength I have, and lift my knee. Hopping on one foot to get my balance, I wait until I stop swaying, then I flick my leg out the way I saw him do.
Thwump.
I turn to him with a wide grin and hands in the air like I just won my first world title.
He smiles the way a parent does when they don’t give a shit about the crappy rainbow their kid just painted. “Good job. Now, do it again.”
So I do.
“And again.”
And I do.
On and on we go.
Thwump, thwump, thwump.
“Okay.” He stops me before I lift my leg again. “Come back over here and we’ll work your kicks on a person.” He picks up his Thai pads and straps them to his thick forearms. “Again, but don’t rush. I want quality. We learn strength and speed another day.”
Being face to face sends nervous tingles ricocheting through my body. I try to remember everything he said. Stance, chamber, abs, but I still fumble it and almost trip myself up. “Shit!”
“That’s okay. Relax and try again. Slow down your movements, concentrate.”
I take a moment to prepare myself. Deep breath in, find my zen, hands up, flex my stomach, lift my knee, flick my leg.
Thwack!
“Yes! Again.”
And on and on we go.
A hundredthwackslater, he stops me and throws his pads to the floor. Lifting his arms above his head, he leaves his whole body unprotected. “Alright, now without the pads. It feels different, trust me.”
I almost swallow my tongue with nerves. What if I hurt him? He’s a pro – I won’t hurt him the legitimate way, but what if I kick him in the balls by accident? It wouldn’t even be that surprising of me. “Um, Bobby, I dunno…”
“Do it.” He readjusts on his feet. “Seriously. Stance. Knee. Core. Give me your worst.”
With a nervous nod and a desert dry throat, I keep my movements deliberately slow. Wide stance. Hands up. Lift my knee. Scrunch my face in dread and pray to the testicle Gods.
Thwack!
My eyes snap open, and my smile matches his. “So good, Kit. Well done. Keep going. I want you to practice both legs, front and back. Keep it up, keep it slow, aim good.”
And so we continue. Fifty kicks on each leg later, he stops me with a grin. “Alright, we’re almost done. I want five more…” When I nod like a warrior in her final round at Sparta, he continues, “… I want five more – at full power. Give it everything you got. I want you to come back tomorrow to show me the bruising on your shins. Keep your movements slow, follow through with your hips, kick me as hard as you can – but don’t get sloppy. Quality and technique. Always. Ready?”
I nod.
“One!”
I kick out and smile at the satisfyingthwump.
Yeah, that felt good.
“Two!” And I kick again.